Break & Burn
by HotLiquidJello
Summary: Boarding School AU – Captain Swan: Emma, daughter of important diplomats, moves with her parents to England where she attends Walden Preparatory School. There she is confronted with the insufferable Killian Jones. Upon meeting, both are determined to make life hell for one another. But how long does it take for punishment to give way to pleasure? - To become shamelessly smutty.
1. Prologue

**AN:** So. Hi. It's been a while. And if you're wondering, yes, this is a good part of the reason why _Weather Permitting_ hasn't updated. There's a list of other factors as well, but we'll not get into those now because that's not why we're here. We're here for _Break & Burn_ which I'm a little bit a lot in love with, so I really hope you enjoy this - I've been lovingly slaving away at it for ages. Also, apologies for not immediately delivering on the Rated M promise. Soon.

* * *

Few things existed in the world that Emma felt could compare with flying, but the rush of anticipation that surged through her when the clouds broke, and she had her first view of the isle of Britain was certainly one of them. If Emma thought she was excited during take-off, then she wasn't aware of a word existing in the English language for how she was feeling now.

It was all green, and rolling hills, and rows of houses and everything she had ever been promised the island to look like. And it was all _hers_. She wasn't just there for quick vacation and stamp in her passport – she was coming to live in this land that looked like it fell out of a story book.

Some may have resented frequent moves growing up, Emma had certainly been obstinate about it several times, but right now she loved it. Never had she been more grateful for the opportunities provided by her parents' diplomatic careers. She'd dreamed of coming to England for as long as she could remember knowing there was an England to come to.

De-boarding, customs, and baggage claim went by in a blur and before Emma knew it she was in the backseat of a Volvo station wagon staring out the window, mesmerized – she couldn't help but beam at the cloudy sky, and every tree, every road sign – while Mary Margaret, her mother, comforted David as he freaked out about driving on the wrong side of the road.

"Yes, Emma. I know it's there – I'm trying not to hit it," her father said the fifth time she pointed out a double decker bus.

"Em honey, could you try not to distract your father while he's putting all his focus into not killing us?" her mom added.

"Right. Sorry, Dad," Emma said, already distracted and internally screaming with joy once again by the sights coming into view.

David was relieved when they finally pulled in front of their new home. Emma was a little sad that for the moment her sightseeing was at an end, but far too excited to explore the new house to stay displeased for any longer than an instant. She tore through the door just like a little kid tore through presents on Christmas morning.

Emma bolted up the stairs and darted about the semi-furnished rooms, debating which to claim as hers. While the master bedroom would of course be her parents', that still left a few options for her to pick from. She chose a room at the back of the house. Not only would it be quiet, but it was loaded with built-in bookshelves.

She wove around her parents to get down the stairs and into the room temporarily housing the boxes of possessions they'd sent ahead of them. She grabbed as many boxes as she could carry, hauled them up to her new room and began rummaging through them. Emma had never been particularly sentimental, and usually chose to donate most of her things between moves, which made the dreaded unpacking much easier. There were of course some things she always kept not least of all was her collection of books. As fantastically commonplace as it sounded, Emma had always felt a special connection to the stories she found bound between pages, fairytales especially. She began meticulously organizing her books, and soon lost herself in the task. Tolkien next to Rowling, Westerfeld and Johnson next to Green and Riggs… She was so absorbed in the placement of her collection of Barnes and Noble leather-bound classics she didn't even notice her mother coming in.

"Of course you put away your books before making your bed."

"Absolutely. Sheets and comforters don't contain the non-renewable resource of hope like my beloved tomes," Emma said grinning. It was her mother who had gotten her addicted to books for that very reason in the first place.

"You say that now – wait until you start attending university. Anyway, I came to ask if you wanted help with anything."

"Um," Emma said, licking her lips nervously, "you could make my bed…" She batted her eyelashes as extra appeasement.

"Seventeen years old, and it is the one thing you refuse to do…" Mary Margaret said, digging through a box to grab the flat sheet.

Despite the time and effort devoted to making her room looked lived in, Emma didn't have all that long to become especially familiar with their new residence, as her father reminded her at dinner.

"So, we're finally here and summer's coming to an end. Are you looking forward to starting school in a few weeks? Or are you getting cold feet at all?"

"Are you kidding?" she said, stuffing a forkful of penne in her mouth. She swallowed and continued, "I'm living the dream! Not only is it so Hogwarts – I mean, boarding school in England, _come on _– but practically every graduate goes on to Oxford or Cambridge or otherwise becomes wildly successful. I remain as enthralled as when you first told me we were coming, despite the mass amount of pressure I have just realized..."

"I wouldn't be worried about that," her mother chimed in, "you've always been top of your class. And they wouldn't have accepted you if they didn't think you belonged."

_Belonging_.

What an interesting concept. It was the one thing Emma had always lacked due to moving around, a sense of belonging anywhere. It had never bothered her before, but something about that line from her mom kept ringing in the back of her head throughout the evening, oddly excited by the notion of potentially belonging to this island nation.

* * *

Two weeks flew by, and most of her things were packed back up, loaded into the car, and she was off to the prestigious Walden Preparatory School. Emma was always up for any sort of adventure, and was bursting at the seams with excitement for this latest undertaking.

After a fairly long drive (at least for British standards), David pulled through wrought iron gates onto a gravel driveway and up a hill. Emma's jaw dropped as the castle-esque academy came into view. Her father looked over her shoulder to cast her a grin as he followed the signs ushering them and the other cars of arriving students towards the dorms to park before heading over to the check-in tables.

"What do you think, Emma? Will it do?" he teased.

"_Will it do_?" Emma repeated, mouth still agape as she got out of the car, breathing in the Walden air for the first time. "It's even better than the pictures – and I had trouble believing those were real!"

"Oh dear. Mary Margaret, I don't think she likes it."

"What a pity," her mother sighed, continuing the jest. "I suppose we best turn around now."

Emma rolled her eyes as she grabbed both her parents' arms, dragging them after her as she plowed toward the line of her new classmates checking in.

After signing in and getting her student ID, schedule – _heh_, _"shed-yool"_ – and room key, Emma followed the directions she'd been given and found her room. By the third trip from the car, Emma had the route down. The Swans got to unpacking, _again_, before hearing a knock at her door. Emma turned and saw a tall, leggy brunette standing in her open doorway. "Hi! You must be Emma Swan. I'm Ruby! I'm a prefect – Senior Prefect, actually –sort of like an RA? I was asked to make sure you settle in alright, and show you around."

Emma gave her a smile. "It's nice to meet you Ruby. This is my mom, Mary Margaret-" Ruby crossed the room to shake the hand of the woman with a pixie cut, and then turned to repeat the action with the sandy-blond man, "-and my dad, David."

"I was going to ask if you wanted any help unpacking, but you seem to have it pretty well under control."

"Yeah, to the point where there's really nothing else for us to do," David noted, a slightly wistful smile on his face.

A teary goodbye on the part of Mary Margaret ensued, and following promises to call and work hard her parents were gone.

"Oh! Here's your welcome package, by the way," Ruby said, extending her arm, a bag hanging from her fingers. "Don't get your hopes up too high," she chimed as Emma took it, and began looking through. "It's just some pencils, and a map, and a list of clubs. That sorta stuff. There is a Crunchie bar in there though!"

"Crunchie?" Emma asked, pulling out the gold-foil wrapped candy bar. "Is it anything like a Crunch bar?"

"Do you not have these across the pond? Oh you poor things. It's chocolate covered honeycomb."

Emma scrunched her face. "Like. Just pulled out of the hive? Doesn't sound very shelf stable…"

"Oh no no no. It's not _actual _honeycomb. It's cinder toffee. My granny makes it sometimes. It's caramel with bicarb of soda. Nothing weird, promise."

Emma took a tentative bite, before nodding. "_So_ much better than a Crunch bar." She quickly polished off the rest of the confection. "So what exactly do you do as a prefect?" Emma asked, licking her lips as she kicked her suitcase under her bed. "I mean, besides pimp out excellent chocolate bars."

"Oh, real exciting stuff you know – though the chocolate is the highlight of the job. I yell at people for playing music too loudly, make sure you're not keeping any contraband items like candles in your room."

"Heaven forbid!" Emma laughed. "Sounds like a fair bit of work."

"Looks good on your CV though. And it's nothing I'm not familiar with. See, Granny runs a bed and breakfast in the Cotswolds'. I help out when I'm home for the summer. You and your parents should totally come visit sometime."

"That sounds great. Well, I'm as settled into my room as I care to be for the moment. Care to give me that tour now?"

"Absolutely! Follow me." She got up from Emma's desk chair and stepped out the door into the hall. "This is the residence hall, obviously…"

The tour proceeded as one would expect, with the brunette showing the blonde around campus, but with the unanticipated bonus of two girls genuinely bonding. In addition to asking Emma all about America and why she chose Walden, Ruby made sure to add some commentary that definitely wasn't sanctioned by the staff for the official tour.

"…and over here is where Katherine Goldblum broke the drinking fountain last year, and ended up completely soaking this guy, Frederick. It was an accident, or so she says, but everyone knew she'd been mad on him for ages, and was definitely _not_ complaining when he pulled off his shirt."

"How did poor Fred feel about that?" Emma asked between giggles.

"That's the funny thing," Ruby said as she continued down the hall and ushered Emma through a set of double doors, "apparently it was a really good flirting technique because they've been dating ever since. But now I welcome you to our dining hall. The food is pretty good, but, suffice it to say, it's not long before I yearn for Granny's lasagne."

"And I'd guess if something sounds too good to be true it probably is?" seeing Ruby's eyes first flicker briefly back the way they'd come as a cue that something was coming, Emma acknowledged the caf door opening behind her and other people coming inside.

"Pretty much," Ruby answered over the din of the new voices. "In the off chance you hear something exotic or like they're trying too hard, in all likelihood you should pick something else. But your standard fare like sandwiches and pasta are always safe options. And of course fish and chips."

"So the prospect of scoring a sushi buffet is pretty low then?" Emma joked.

Before Ruby could confirm she would definitely bet against those odds, a voice broke in from behind them. "Oh sodding hell. An American. I pray you're not as ignorant as the stereotypes make you out to be."

"The fact that you're making conclusions about me before I've said a single word to you implies that _you're _the ignorant one," Emma spat back as she whipped around to face the owner of instigating comment. She was not prepared for the tall, dark and handsome sex god she was confronted with. He was even unfairly armed with deep-blue eyes, and just the right amount of scruff. And now that she thought about it, that wasn't an English accent he was sporting, but Irish. _Crap_.

"Hmm. The Yank has got some fight in her," he drawled while looking over his shoulder at the group who'd come in with him, stepping far too close to her. "I believe I see how the west was won." Invading her personal space even further, he pulled a section of hair out of her collar. Emma quickly smacked his hand away. "Ooh – more than some. Breaking you in is going to be fun," he arched his eyebrows and widened his eyes in a manner Emma couldn't help but find…_unnerving_ was the adjective she settled on.

"'Breaking me in'? '_Fun_'?" Emma stared at him. "Just who the hell do you think you are, anyways?"

"Where are my manners – we haven't been introduced. The name's Killian Jones. And you are?"

"Emma. Swan." She pulled herself up a little straighter, wanting nothing more than to look down her nose at him, though failing miserably as he was considerably taller.

"Ah, well, Miss Swan, let me tell you things how work. If this school's student population were the crew of a ship, I'd be the captain, so I'd recommend you learn to show me some respect."

She scoffed. "Sounds like that is the last thing you're going to get from me."

He ran his tongue along his teeth, taking in this little spitfire who was clearly far too headstrong for her own good. "So sure of yourself, aren't you? I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you in your place." Already able to tell it would wound her dearly not to get in the last word, he turned on his heel, leaving her and the prefect in the dining hall.

"Who was that?" Emma asked Ruby as her assailant and his entourage walked away.

"Killian Jones: son of a lord. Or earl, or something. Unfathomably rich, devilishly handsome, teacher's pet in every subject, and star and captain of the football team. Not someone you want to cross."

Emma drew in a breath. "I'm going to hazard a guess that I just did."

"Yes indeed. It was nice knowing you."

"Please. I know his type. I can handle him."


	2. Chapter One

And we break and we burn  
And we turn it inside out  
To take it back to the start  
_-Lifehouse, "Who We Are"_

.

Killian Jones had made it his personal mission to make the life of Emma Swan hell.

This wasn't something Emma told herself to justify a series of coincidences, or even an exaggeration of a few hazing jests. The insufferable asshole had flat out told her exactly that.

_Emma walked with Ruby to the caf for breakfast the next morning. The pair talked animatedly to one another, having become fast friends. As they loaded their trays, Emma reached into the cooler to grab the last bottle of orange juice, only to have another hand swoop in and swipe it first. _

_She looked up to find the culprit was none other than the contemptible cretin from the previous day. _

"_Hey! Give it!" she demanded, not caring that she sounded like a petulant five-year-old on the playground._

"_Even gutter rats have more manners than you're displaying, Swan," Killian chided, holding the bottle above his head and out of her reach. "At least say 'please'."_

"_Not gonna happen," she said dryly as she elbowed him none-too-gently in the ribs, catching the bottle as he dropped it._

"_Ooh, I do love a challenge," he lilted, leaning in too close. "Making your life hell is going to entertain me to no end."_

_Emma narrowed her eyes at him. "You can't honestly believe that I'd sit back and take such bullshit? What if I told you that I have every intention and capability of giving as good as I get?"_

"_I would tell you fine – if that's the way you want it, then let the games begin." Killian smirked, far too excited about their game now that she showed her gumption. This was going to be interesting; he had to admit that he relished that she had thrown a wrench into his practices. This Swan girl was unlike anyone he'd ever met, and he rather wanted to pry her apart to find out just what made her tick – seeing how she fought back would provide apt opportunity to do just that. _

_It wasn't until after he'd walked away that Emma realized he'd reached around her and nicked her chocolate croissant._

The very next day her hand discovered that her doorknob was covered in greasepaint. Well he didn't make empty promises; Emma would award him that much credit.

Every day for the rest of the week brought similar annoyances, trivial things, like taking her fries – _chips _– as he walked past her, or flicking bits of paper into her hair. Emma found it quite laughable really. By the end of that week the worst he'd done was slip a lizard into her bag. This so-called omnipotent Killian Jones was seemingly all bark and no bite. Much to her dismay, she was soon confronted with the fact that that was exactly what he wanted her to think.

Having lured her into a false sense of security, Killian decided to herald the true beginning of the games with a bang. Through the student directory, he got ahold of her email, which he used to register her for every obnoxious newsletter he could find. Both her main and spam inboxes were overloaded with offers for paper towels, catheters, car insurance, community theaters in Idaho, a ferret rescue society, and everything else under the sun. He was especially overjoyed to hear that one particular message got stuck, freezing her computer as an ad squawked, "You have won. Congratulations. Click now to claim your free iPad" on loop. Seeing her pace frantically in front of the technology help desk in the library until the IT director was finished updating the art lab's Adobe Creative Suite and free to come help her was more reward than he could have hoped for from such little effort on his part.

Her email wasn't the only loot he'd taken away from the directory, however. And his perfect report cards had not been bought. He rigged up an app that spammed her with texts 24/7, in addition to paying off a girl in Chiswick to give out Emma's number to guys she met at bars. Her phone was constantly ringing with gentleman callers asking for "Barbara".

_"I'm sorry, you have the wrong number!" A flustered Swan nearly shouted into her phone in the dormitory common room. _

_"But I'm calling long distance!" a pathetic voice whinged from the other end. _

_Killian nearly doubled over with laughter._

After getting her number changed, Emma made sure she lived up to her end of the bargain. It took a fair bit of planning but she enacted her first major scheme during History. After he left his foot out to trip her on her way to her seat, she took her time picking her papers back up. Making sure his attention was fully occupied elsewhere, she managed to nick his cell from his book bag while grabbing the last of her scattered worksheets. Having accomplished what she desired – a lovely medley of changing the background to a shirtless Robert Pattinson, switching the language along with a few other choice settings, and pulling out contact and calendar info for her own records – she leaned over to over to Anton, who sat in between her and Killian, and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Anton," she cooed sweetly, "I have a favor to ask. I found this phone left in my French class last period. Turns out it's Killian's. Could you return it to him please?" She flashed him a winning smile for added measure.

Phase one complete, she commenced the second part of her plan in chemistry. All the pieces in place, Emma nodded at Ruby to dial Killian's number in the middle of Mr. Gold's lecture. After the second it took for the call to connect, magic happened: Killian's new ringtone, the masterpiece "I Whip My Hair Back and Forth" by Willow Smith began blaring throughout the room, much to Emma's delight. Her satisfaction was heightened by the slew of curses he spat out, trying to figure out the lock she'd put on his now-Russian phone to fix the mess she'd left him.

Following that episode, though she'd never understand quite how she'd done it, she managed to slay, er, _woo_ the fire-breathing dragon of a librarian (heaven forbid anyone sneezed while perusing the stacks) enough to leave the circulation desk for a moment, allowing Emma to swap out the disc of a World War II documentary he put on hold with _Kate and Leopold_.

Killian, she had learned, lacked all manner of subtly, and demonstrated this when he repaid her by launching firecrackers outside her bedroom window in the middle the night.

* * *

Somehow, in between shenanigans, they both managed to also put on a convincing show of being diligent students all the while, though English Literature became a very interesting subject very quickly.

"Do you have something to add, Miss Swan?" Ms. LaFrench asked in response to the snort Emma let out after Killian's long-winded speech during the class's discussion of _The Canterbury Tales_.

"Not that I disagree with Mr. Jones' points, no matter how overused," Emma began "but he does leave the door wide open to dispute that that's only the façade argument Chaucer is trying to make. I really don't see how the Wife of Bath's tale can be considered pro-feminism."

"That's an interesting interpretation Emma," Ms. LaFrench said, intrigued. "Expand."

"Take the line that she would accuse her husbands about wenches in the prologue, for example. She's degrading those women by use of the term 'wenches', and also making the general claim women are adulterous – and not in a way commending them for taking ownership of their sexuality." She quickly glanced over to Killian, reveling in being the one to cast a smug smile onto a frustrated recipient for once.

"Miss Swan is clearly forgetting that quotes do not exist in a vacuum," Killian retorted, not waiting for his rebuttal to be sanctioned by the professor. "The Wife would have been very forward thinking for women of her time – managing to attain power when it would have been abundantly clear to anyone else that there should have been no power for her to have."

"I'm forgetting no such thing!" Emma said turning to face him before continuing. "The Wife only looks out for herself, in a manner that demands other women remain feeble servants. Plus the only husband she truly loved was the one who attained dominion over _her_. Where's the equality in that?"

"Fine – but there is also the story she shares, which you must admit _is_ very positive when looked at through a feminism paradigm," he stood and leaned over his desk towards her. "The entire point is that the knight was only made happy because he listened to his wife. In the end he gave the power she sought."

"Would anyone else like to comment?" Ms. LaFrench posed the class, hoping to regain control of the situation, but found it was a lost cause. Emma was already rattling off why she would concede no such thing. It was as though the rest of the class had fallen away, leaving behind Emma, Killian and their argument as the only entities in the room.

And every subsequent English class similarly dissolved into increasingly incendiary debates between the two hot headed students. Eventually neither even stood for whatever contrived point they were arguing; they just wanted to prove the other wrong. They cared not that they were ruining the entire class's education, and were only slightly miffed when the quiet boy at the back of the class, Victor, yelled "God! Would you two just sleep together already?" Ruby gave him a high five at that, for which Emma yelled at her later.

After three solid weeks of this, Ms. LaFrench grew so fed up, that she finally snapped, declaring them both to be dramatically over-reaching and misreading the text.

Silencing their complaints that it was the other who had started it, she went on to add, "I'm assigning both of you detention to make up for your blatant disrespect and perpetual disruption of my class."

Immediately after the lesson was over, Killian went to Ms. LaFrench's desk to obtain his sentence. Not wanting to risk any extra confrontation, Emma stalled while packing up her bag before heading down to receive her own punishment. Despite successfully having bade her countenance to be as pleasant as possible as she was informed that she would be on blackboard duty on Friday for the entirety of Sage Hall, Emma didn't wait until quitting the room before letting her face sour as her brow furrowed into a scowl.

The moment she was out the door, Killian, who had been waiting, grabbed her wrist. "Look what you've done now, Swan – gone and got us both extra work. Bad form."

He was trying to come off as seething and threatening, but Emma could tell he was amused at the game they were playing. He clearly enjoyed shaking up Walden's routine. She couldn't say she minded either; it broke them free of the usual doldrums of education.

"_Me_?" she widened her eyes for show. "You sure you're not the one at fault here?"

"I am exceedingly confident that this rests on your shoulders. You'll have to pay for it."

She rolled her eyes. "Aw. That's cute. You keep telling yourself that."

"Well," he drawled, stepping closer, "someone has to pay. What say you and I make a little wager?"

"Hm," she hummed, jutting her chin out a tad. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

It turned out that Killian, as Emma grudgingly noted, was in fact correct and pay she did. It seemed a harmless bet; Killian making five goals at the first match of the year had to be a tall order. How the hell was Emma supposed to know it a perfectly reasonable _assumption_ to anyone else?

"Pay up, Swan." Begrudgingly she handed him twenty quid. As she tried to slip off quietly, he grabbed her arm. "Ah-ah-ah. I seem to recall there was another condition you agreed to."

"You're not really going to make me do this?"

"A deal's a deal. Not that there was any chance of you winning this particular wager – I am a hell of a captain – but for the sake of argument, if you had, I would have held up my end."

Emma could discern he was telling the truth. "Fine." And with a heavy sigh, she turned to follow him down the hall.

"Yes?" the nurse asked, seeing Emma loitering in the doorway.

The school nurse was a short man who everyone just called "Doc". He was kind and good at his job, if a little overbearing at times.

"Um…" Emma's eyes flicked over to Killian who despite doing a fairly convincing job of rummaging through the supply cupboard in search of the bandages – _plasters_ – was staring straight at her, smirking as always. She swallowed. "I had some questions."

Doc looked at her expectantly. "Are you going to ask them?"

"Right. I-" she cut herself off as another person entered the room. Victor. Of course. He was doing an independent study with Doc. Anything to beef up his CV before applying to medical school. Great. An audience was exactly what she needed. "I was, um, just wondering what advice you could give me on, ya know…" Emma gave an ambiguous roll of her head, and twirl of her wrists.

"No. I don't."

She took a deep breath, and just decided to get it over with. "Advice on confronting your sexual identity. I. I've just been feeling a bit… confused. And curious lately."

* * *

Emma made a bee-line for the cafeteria after finally being released from the most awkward conversation of her entire life.

"Brilliant performance, Swan. Absolutely captivating!" Killian laughed, sidling up next to her as she waited for her pastrami sandwich. "I'm sure the critics will be singing your praises for years to come. It was nearly enough to convince me, as well."

Ignoring her instincts, Emma took the bait. "Oh, pray tell, what gave me away?" she asked dryly. Killian bit his lip and looked down at her, debating whether it would be more amusing to leave her guessing, or let her in on the secret, biding his time to enrage her further. "Out with it!" she demanded.

"I almost would have believed you," he finally acquiesced, "were it not for the fact that I saw the way you looked at me when first we met. Ah, don't feel bad, love. It's not your fault I'm irresistibly handsome."

Emma glared at him, and quickly turned on her heel to march away, but not before catching that confounded smug twinkle in his eye.

"How have you survived 4 years of school with him?" she asked Ruby, as she slammed her precariously balanced tray down along with the mass of textbooks and graduate theses Doc had loaned her and slipped into her seat. "He's absolutely repugnant!"

"He is most certainly that. However, I've never seen someone so…fixated on him. You sure you're not just in a strop because you're attracted to him?"

"Good lord – _no_. Absolutely not," Emma replied, eyebrows practically in her hairline as she stared at her friend in flabbergasted offence. "Why do people keep saying that? Killian Jones is a horrid, self-entitled, immature cretin of a boy." She paused her rant to take a vicious bite out of her sandwich. "He's the sort who ruins everything he comes into contact with, and I just can't stand see good not triumph over such evil."

"Well I hate to break it to you, but no one has ever gone up against Killian Jones and come out alive, let alone win. But if you want a shot, I can only offer this advice: try something else." With that Ruby took her tray and left.

The brunette's words were bouncing around Emma's head long after dinner. She kept replaying them, in addition to Lily Allen's "Fuck You" while she lied in bed, running through every ploy that came to mind. From the entirely ineffective, to the outright fantastical, nothing was off limits and she played through any and all ideas, looking for anything to give Jones his just desserts.

* * *

Opportunity provided itself when Mr Gold assigned Killian as Emma's lab partner. Obviously. How could she ever have imagined things playing out any other way?

_Bloody brilliant_, as they'd say in the local vernacular.

Antics ensued immediately. He would nudge her pens and notebooks off the desk, and she'd return the sentiment in kind. One would hold their foot to trip the other as they got up to collect lab supplies or worksheets. Every now again, provided they managed to keep their pens on the desk long enough, they'd 'tik' each other's hands and arms, every successful mark like a scoreboard declaring a point in the opponent's favor.

But, after a few days consideration, Emma realized the situation to be a blessing in disguise. "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer", as the old adage goes.

What sparked this realization was noticing that Killian, in the process of rummaging through his book bag in search of white out, had left his room key on the lab table, mere millimeters from Emma's itching fingers.

Seizing the opening provided by Mr Gold yelling at Killian, and thus holding her adversary's complete focus, Emma nabbed the key.

After an anxiety-filled period, Emma bolted out of her seat the moment Gold released them from their debt to education, danced around the other students in the corridors to get out of the building, and then sprinted across the courtyard to the dorms, heart pounding not from the exercise, but adrenaline.

There was little need to worry about being caught at this hour with all students in classes, but she kept her fast pace and a wary eye peeled for anything to give her away as she slipped into Killian's room. As the door closed behind her, her eyes darted about the room, seeking the best prospect. They landed on small scale nautical ship which was almost instantly removed from its place on the shelf and relocated to Emma's bag. Another moment later, she was back on the other side of the door, slinking off to her own room to stash the loot before dashing off to History.

She made it with precious seconds to spare, panting slightly as she slid into her seat.

Killian's eyes settled upon Emma more than usual as he both wanted to tease her for her disheveled appearance, and also curiosity as to what had caused it. The American ignored him, much to his vexation, and simply waited until the rest of the class was adamantly working on the day's assignment to walk up to Miss Ghorm, presumably to ask some innocuous question, he reasoned. Returning his scrutiny to his own work, he was unaware to Emma turning in "the lost room key she found in between classes".

She returned to her seat as Astrid, the TA, took the key to the office. As the period ended and students were filing into the halls, a voice came over the P.A. calling for Killian Jones to come to the lost and found. Avoiding his confused gaze as he stalked off, Emma cast her head down, smirking knowingly to herself.

* * *

Emma figured burying the model ship in the woods and leaving him cryptic directions to its location was fair trade for the embarrassment she had suffered in the infirmary.

Of course Killian saw it as an invitation to break into _her _room.

And of course Emma should have realized that meant he would steal the entire contents of her underwear drawer.

After 3 days of going commando, wherein she had an interesting phone call with her mom during which she fabricated a story about 'a terrible accident with the school washing machine' to explain the charge on the visa, a package arrived for Emma. She let out a "Bless you Amazon!" in the middle of the mailroom, exclaiming her relief at the receipt of new bras and underpants. Also among the frilly underthings was a window lock Emma wasted no time in installing.

The lock couldn't help her with what happened _outside_ her window however.

* * *

"Why don't you explain to me why you're here," Dr. Hopper, the school counselor, said calmly.

Killian rolled his eyes and snorted derisively. "Because Miss Swan over here screeches like a banshee in the dead of night."

"I was _yelling_ because you. Set. Fire. To. My. Underwear. Outside. Of. My. Window."

_It had been a crude shock. Emma was up late, alternating between working on her calculus homework and watching YouTube videos when Ruby knocked on her door. "Sorry to barge in Emma, but I have to check if you have any candles."_

_ "Um, no. Something does smell like it's burning though, doesn't it?" Turning around, she noted a strange glow coming in from the window. She walked to wards the glass. Seeing what awaited her outside, without realizing it her legs started running her out her room, down the hall and out the building, completely deaf to Ruby calling after her._

"_Jones!" she shrieked as she sprinted down the lawn to where he was standing next to the inferno. "What the fucking hell is this!?"_

_ His mouth wasn't able to answer her in anything other than a smirk before both their faces fell as campus security showed up. _

"You stole my ship!" he spat.

"I gave it back!" she countered.

"Since when is sending someone on an unwilling scavenger hunt considered 'giving it back'?"

"Please! You deserved worse than that after what happened with Doc."

"Rubbish! I won that bet fair and square! Are you always such a sore loser?"

"_I'm _a sore loser? If you had just admitted _you_ were wrong about Chaucer, none of this would have happened in the first place!"

"Excuse you! Your argument was deluded and you know it! No, I think you'll find if you hadn't been a stubborn bint none of this would have happened in the first place."

"Just because your dick is so small that you feel you need to compensate for it in other areas of your life is no reason to feel threatened just because a girl challenges your opinion-"

"Well this clearly isn't getting us anywhere…" Hopper said as he stood to get their attention. "Need I remind you that you're both lucky that this is your first offence, and headmistress Mills has _generously_ decided not to call your parents? You're here to work through your issues, not file a list of grievances – which, incidentally, should have occurred before things escalated to this point. In fact, let's start there: why hasn't this come up with the staff before now?"

The two delinquents cast each other a look, but said nothing.

"I see. This is some sort of contest between the two of you, is it? A competition of one upping each other? Need I remind you that arson isn't a sport – it's a felony."

"That wasn't _me_-" Emma began.

"Burglary is _also_ a crime, Swan," Killian snarled, cutting her off.

"Both of you!" Dr. Hopper cut in before they could get each other's throats, "Apparently it's not what you're accustomed to, but could you please try and approach this like adults? It's sounding to me like you're both frustrated that the other knows exactly which buttons to press to rile you up the most. But perhaps you're taking that the wrong way – offensively instead of as something positive."

He was met with dumbfounded stares.

"Are you trying to tell us…?" Killian started cautiously.

"…that we understand each other?" Emma finished.

"You may not realize it, but it's possible you two could actually get along remarkably well if you stopped trying to emotionally torment each other for a moment."

The realization sunk into them slowly: somewhere along the line in their being dicks to each other, they'd figured the other out – and far too quickly. _Well_, they both reasoned_, this just adds to their list of transgressions_.


	3. Chapter Two

**AN:** First of all thank you to everyone who has read/followed/faved/reviewed *internet hugs*

Immediate second thing: Apologies for the delay. In addition to my usual procrastinator-perfectionist tendencies, I also moved 1,000 miles across the country, which was a bit distracting.

_Anyways_, this is one of my favorite chapters (I often procrastinated on the last two and would just reread what I had written of this one). This is where the fun begins, and it gets me really smiley. This is where your patience first gets rewarded for putting up with these two idiots.

Finally: to the reviewer asking if you'll see Regina, Neal or Robin: Regina was very casually and quickly mentioned as the headmistress, if you caught that bit in the last chapter. I know how Neal fits into this story, but don't know yet if it'll be a thing that actually gets revealed to the audience. As for Robin, I haven't 100% decided on a place for him yet; we shall see.

* * *

It's all  
To the wind...  
-_Lifehouse, "Who We Are"_

.

After their meeting with Dr. Hopper, both miscreants realized they'd have to at least put on a show of having changed their behavior.

What were once dagger-sharp glares in the hallways were now reduced to hollow, plastic smiles. Crumpled balls of paper previously thrown at the back of one another's heads became courteous "how are you's" uttered through gritted teeth. And all the while, the entire faculty had their eyes on the two scalawags, just waiting for their next volatile interaction, like cats about to pounce.

Clearly the teachers were desperate for a change in Walden's routine too.

What was almost worse than having to be nice was the implication lurking underneath: the rules had suddenly shifted mid-game. It was as if they'd entered the next level with completely new, unknown challenges. Trying to stay ahead of the tides, Emma was the first to enact a different tactic.

Killian immediately grew suspicious – almost fearful that his chemistry notes were staying where he left them. "What are you doing?" he demanded, barely two minutes into the period.

She threw him a bored look. "You mean besides having cognitive thoughts, generally going through the processes that keep a person alive, _answering your inane question_?"

His jaw flexed in frustration. The ambiguity was nearly as troubling as the idea of Swan not planning to her next attack on him at all; he just sought the relief of _knowing_ to be on his toes. "What are you _planning_?"

"I'm planning," Emma replied, turning to keep her eyes glued to the front of the class, "on getting an education today."

He wasn't buying it. "You're definitely playing at something, Swan. What-"

"Miss Swan, Mr Jones," Gold interrupted, "if what you have to say is so important, perhaps you'd like to share it with the rest of the class? Or, if it's a more private matter, I could always send you to discuss it with Dr. Hopper."

Emma and Killian promptly shut their mouths and the professor continued his lesson. The admonishment lasted only a minute, however, before Killian, unable to let it go, resumed.

"What's your game?"

"Do you truly believe I have nothing better to do with my spare time than to come up with games to play with you?" she shot back in a whisper. "Are you honestly _that_ egotistical?" Turning back to her notes, she mumbled something about how his ability to get his head through a door was the eighth wonder of the world.

"You're up to something."

"I never said I wasn't," she instantly quipped, not deigning to look at him.

"So you are." The corner of his mouth quirked up, as he felt he received the answer he wanted. And why should he have doubted? The two of them were not the sort to become dissuaded from their antics because of one small trip to the school shrink.

"Never said that either," she flung back.

Killian was more frustrated at the Swan girl than ever. His smirk sunk into a frown, but, now thoroughly intrigued as to what fate awaited him, he continued to watch her out of the corner of his eye – not trusting her to do nothing.

This, of course, was exactly what Emma wanted.

She fiddled with her necklace for a moment, before proceeding to run her finger back and forth across her collarbone, having conveniently left a few buttons open at the top of her blouse.

Always when she knew he was looking, but always casually, she would flip back or toy with her curtain of thick, blonde hair which had been left down from its usual ponytail that day.

While the rest of the class looked on at the board, completely unaware, Emma provided a subtle demonstration of exactly how great the fit of her Levis were when bending over to retrieve her planner from her book bag.

The poor boy looked on, confused and enraged at being unable to tell for certain whether she knew she was torturing him. Despite being wary to ask for clarification as in either case it would inform her that it was working, he tentatively began, "Swan. Are you–"

"Killian," she said kindly but seriously, as she leaned across the table just a little closer to him, and calling even more attention to the deep 'v' of her blouse, "shut up."

Always having been fairly confident about her looks, Emma was now assured that her draw from the gene pool was an effective weapon against Killian Jones. This proved especially true on Wednesday when, providing a clear shot down her shirt as she leaned over her bag between them, she asked to borrow a pen. Not only did he fumble with withdrawing a spare writing instrument from his own book bag, but he slammed his head on the underside of the lab table as he tried to sit back up.

Confirmation for Killian's theory of the existence of motives behind her coquettish actions arrived at the end of the week of her understated torment; it was that Friday when Emma decided to up the ante.

After what any man would describe as _agonizingly slowly_ bending over, she sat back up with something small and seemingly innocent in her hands: a lollypop.

Once it had been silently unwrapped she gave it a very deliberate lick. She repeated the action a few more times before having her tongue dart out and alternate between flicking and swirling around it.

Killian stared, completely mesmerized.

_Surely she knows what she's doing – how it looks?_ He broke his transfixed stare momentarily to check if anyone else was seeing this show. While their lab table was at the back of the classroom, there were still students to either side of them. But they were all focused like the diligent pupils they were supposed to be at the educational film Gold was playing on the projector.

Ignoring the outdated video, his unblinking gaze returned to Emma's mouth and the sinful things she was doing with the hard candy. _Honestly_, she had enclosed the offending sweet in her mouth and was now slowly pumping it back and forth.

He didn't realize how tightly he had been holding his pencil until, hearing her utter a soft "_mm_" of pleasure, it broke with a loud _snap_ that echoed through the class.

Upon hearing that, Emma finally paused her performance and leaned over towards him, expression purely innocent curiosity. "My, my, Killian – stressed? You should really do something to relieve that tension." Her voice was lower and breathier than he'd ever heard it, and it was doing strange things to him.

She pulled back away and resumed assaulting the lolly with her tongue.

All too soon the lights were on and class was dismissed.

"Well now – that is quite the predicament," Emma whispered in his ear before bounding away. He stared after her a moment confusedly, pondering the smug tone in her voice before looking down. _Fuck!_

Oh, she was going to pay _big time_ for this.

He brought his eyes back up just in time to see her bounce out the door, skirt and hair swaying in far too appealing a manner for him to bear in his current state.

"Planning on getting an education" she had said but four days ago. He narrowed his eyes and set his jaw – if that's the way she wanted to play it than an education she was going to get. She was going to learn what it meant to go head to head against Killian Jones. _Swan. You are so lucky it's a holiday_.

It was an empty threat, however, even in his mind; he was too stunned, and focused on other matters presently, to have any clue how he'd retaliate.

He sighed, and gathered his things. His book bag awkwardly slung in front of him, he skirted off to his room, where after taking care of business, he began packing to spend the weekend in London.

* * *

Thanks to the glorious notion of "halfterm", the following day was the start of a week off. Emma was eager for a chance to catch a break from school, and especially go home and see her parents during the academic intermission. She'd missed them, and was not ashamed to admit it. There was not an ounce of embarrassment as she ran straight into her dad's arms at the train station the next morning.

"Hey! How's my little princess?"

"Never better," Emma beamed at him. Then she glanced back and forth from one parent to the other animatedly, "So! What have you got in store for us today? Sightseeing? I've still not been to the Dungeons. Ooh – or shopping? I hear TopShop just got in these great scarves and beanies – OH! Or we could just have a relaxing afternoon with a proper English tea? I could absolutely go for a scone or crumpet accompanied by a steaming cuppa Earl Grey. Hey, have you guys stocked the house with every sugary confection you can find for Halloween yet?"

"Goodness! All in good time, Emma. A full week of possibility awaits us, but tonight we do need to get home as we're having important guests for dinner – an actual, proper Lord and Lady," the young blonde could almost feel her mother's excitement, as if Mary Margaret was born-and-bred royalty about to meet visiting dignitaries.

"Very well!" Emma said, standing up a tad straighter, "I'll be sure to be delightful and impressive for you – even more so than usual."

"Oh, dear. Careful now," David warned, "they're bringing their son along. You never know; if you use too much charm you just may strike his fancy."

Emma scoffed. "Me? I've no desire to be a _Lady_," she even made a face at the word. "But if it reassures you any, I'll promise not to encourage him all the same."

"That's what I like to hear – like it or not, you're daddy's little girl."

Emma bumped into him playfully before getting into the Volvo. "I know, I know."

Once arrived at their home, Mary Margaret got straight to work delegating all the tasks that needed to be executed before their honored guests were to arrive. David received the brunt of the work, and Emma was glad to be let off easy to check the water level of the various vases throughout the house, as "decompressing" was her main assignment.

Once the flowers were tended to, she retreated to her room. After cozying herself into a hastily constructed pillow nest that destroyed the expertly arranged bedding her mother had prepared for her return, Emma, like any professional teenager, whipped out her phone. Once she'd reached her fill of technology having texted Ruby, checked her email, and caught up with all of her friends' social media feeds, she immersed herself in one of the few books that hadn't been lugged out with her to Walden.

She was snapped back out of her portal to another world when her phone's alarm went off, informing her that company would be arriving in roughly an hour, traffic permitting. Obediently she shut the book despite wanting to overhear Long John Silver's plan before hauling herself out of the pile of tangled blankets she called a bed and headed into her bathroom for a quick shower to eliminate any lingering smell of train.

She only just heard the doorbell over the din of her hair dryer. Having donned her best dressy-casual, trying-just-enough-attire – black tights, peplum skirt, ivory lace blouse, and red leather flats – she gave herself one final look-over in the mirror. After grabbing a headband to complete the outfit, and flashing one final practice of her most-winning smile she deemed herself ready.

As she came down the stairs, she heard the conversation between her parents and their guests in full swing.

"Where's your son?" Mary Margaret asked as Emma rounded the corner and met the assembled group in the foyer.

"Oh, he'll be along later – ah! And you must be Emma. Goodness, you're quite the pretty, young thing," a distinctly yet subtly glamorous woman said as she turned to face the new arrival to the room.

"Thank you, ma'am," Emma said, casting her head down bashfully as she stepped more fully into the room.

"Oh, we'll have none of that 'ma'am' nonsense here – I'm Aydan, and this is my husband, William."

Emma smiled earnestly, as she shook their hands in turn. "Okay, Aydan; William. It's lovely to meet you both!"

The outgoing woman looked Emma up and down. "My, you're just the sort my son would like – you see to it he keeps his paws off you."

"Of course," Emma laughed. "I'll make sure he behaves."

The party moved into the living room where pleasant small talk ensued over artisanal cheeses and crackers, and a delightful bottle of Zinfandel recommended by Lady Aydan's personal sommelier.

Laughter flowed frequently as the quintet fell into easy discussion. After using up all conversation of the weather, Emma's plans for university, and the recent successes and failures of everyone's favorite sports teams, David and Mary Margaret began sharing some of their favorite (read: most embarrassing) anecdotes of Emma growing up. Just as David got to his favorite part of how he had to fight his way through horrendous traffic and a storm to get to the hospital the day Emma was born, however, he was interrupted by the evening's second chime of the doorbell.

_Saved by the bell_, Emma thought as their butler went to get the door.

A handsome figure stepped into the parlor, clad in designer slacks, and a well fitted charcoal-colored button up shirt.

"So sorry I'm late, I-" he stopped as his eyes, sweeping across the room, landed on the startled blonde.

"You!?" Emma almost yelled, trying to reconcile this new information as it dawned on her the last name of the family they were entertaining had eluded her, and nearly spilling her wine in the process.

Emma and Killian stared at each other as all noise and sense of comfort was strangled out of the room. Finally, the long, awkward silence was broken by Lady Aydan _Jones_, "So, you two are acquainted then?"

"We go to school together," he managed after a moment.

"Lovely! Then I'm sure you'll have plenty to talk about at dinner," William chipped in.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find something," Emma said forced politely before taking a large gulp of wine.

Emma tried to recline as far back into her chair as to be absorbed by it, while Killian, mercifully taking the seat furthest from her, played every bit the delightful guest, schmoozing up a storm with the adults.

After what felt like hours of unsuccessfully becoming one with the wingback, Mary Margaret finally liberated the party from incessant conversation. "Well, as we're all here," she started as she glanced at the clock, "and it's 6 o'clock, perhaps we should all file in for dinner?"

Appetites whet, everyone agreed and began migrating to the dining room.

Emma took a moment to finish chugging her wine before leaving the parlor. As she turned into the hall, she stumbled into Killian who had lingered behind their parents, his eyes alight with all the ways he could amuse himself this evening.

"That was quite the show you put on yesterday," he murmured in her ear, his brogue darker than she'd heard before.

"I've no idea to what you could possibly be referring" Emma clipped, as she moved to get around him.

"Don't bother lying to me, Emma?. Not only are you rubbish at it, but it just flat-out doesn't suit you."

She looked over her shoulder at him before stepping into the dining room, but his countenance was wiped clean of any evidence of their exchange. To any other observer, he was nothing but the spitting image of a casual acquaintance who was adequately pleased to be sitting down to a lovely dinner.

He was seated across from her, which she cursed under her breath. She honestly would have preferred him next her – she was used to him that way. Horizontally adjacent made it easier to avoid the heated gaze of his impossibly blue eyes; easier to ignore him in general. As well as the added bonus of providing the opportunity to knock his silverware to the floor or spill her drink on him.

She was glad she was between bites when she felt his foot ghost up her leg or else she surely would have started choking to accompany the feeling of her stomach spastically tying itself into a knot.

_Fuck._ She couldn't just yell "Stop!" – she would make a scene. And she knew he'd be all innocence and put on a façade of confusion. She could just see him cocking his head to the side and asking "Stop _what_, Miss Swan?" She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

So she settled for glaring at him pointedly for the briefest of moments, which only resulted in his infuriating smirk growing even bigger, before taking the opportune moment to kick him in the shin.

She took her next bite with an ear-to-ear grin as he jerked and kneed the underside of the table.

* * *

After dinner, Emma excused herself to her room.

_Finally _she could breathe. Even if it was only for a few minutes before she'd have to come back down for dessert, it was a godsend.

She collapsed into her chair and flipped open her laptop, wanting to check her email, just for something to do. While it was booting up, she spun around in her chair, stopping dead to face the door in the middle of her second rotation.

By this point, she really shouldn't have been surprised to find Killian surveying her room as if it were his sanctioned duty to take stock of each of her possessions. She got up, slammed her laptop shut and strode towards him. "What are you doing here?" she spat, not bothering to keep a single ounce of exasperation out of her voice.

"What do you think I'm here for, Swan?" he said smoothly, not phased in the slightest as he slinked far too close to her before flopping onto her bed, reclining to sit back against the headboard. "Ruffling your feathers as always: my favorite pastime."

"For fuck's sake," her patience for him was already dangerously low, and he was only draining it further. She stepped towards the edge of the bed and grabbed his arm, tugging it trying to get him off her bed. "You have got to find a new hobby."

The combination of his infuriating willpower, and general well-muscled solidness kept him from budging an inch. He smirked when she let out a frustrated groan as she dropped his arm in resignation that her attempts were futile, "Aw, but where would the fun be in that?"

"You have a very sick and contrived definition of 'fun'," Emma said, leaning over him to grab a pillow she intended to smack him with.

"Oh, it's quite a simple definition really," recognizing her grievous mistake and taking full advantage of it, he brought up his hands to either side of her waist and pulled, hauling her on top of him, and holding her there. "It's reveling in watching you go absolutely mad." He cast his eyes down from her face appreciating the view this new position awarded, owed to Emma's scoop-neck top.

Emma struggled in vain to pull herself off of him. _He plays _soccer_ for Christ's sake – what does he need such strong arms for?_ "If terrorizing a girl is the only way you can get her in bed, you have desperately got to work on your game."

"Hey!" Killian's eyes snapped back up to hers then, and he was actually frowning in offence. "My game is perfectly fine, Swan."

Emma quirked a brow, amused at his expression which rather resembled a dejected puppy. "Is that so?" she asked, her voice coming out lower than she'd intended. She was suddenly aware of their proximity, and forgetting for a moment that this was a position she was trying to get out of.

"Aye," he replied simply, matching her tone and clicking his tongue against his teeth.

"Why do I seriously doubt I'll ever be bowing in awe at your smoothness with the opposite sex?"

"Because when I have you on your knees, love, you won't be bowing."

Emma swallowed thickly. "'When'?… Well you've no lack of confidence, that much is certain."

Killian chuckled and raised his eyebrows. "You do realize you've been leaning closer to me, don't you?"

Emma's eyes went wide. "W-well," she stammered, "you've been _pulling_ me-" the rest of feeble defense was swallowed when Killian closed the small distance between them and melded his lips against hers.

No. She didn't want this. Killian Jones was foul and deplorable; completely and utterly loathsome on every conceivable level. She hated him. She had rehearsed speeches about how much she hated him. And _damn!_ – he was a helluva kisser. Far better than anyone had any right to be. Unable to deny that fact she closed her eyes, turned her brain off, and began kissing him back.

As his hands wandered up and down her back, Emma brought her hand that wasn't supporting her weight to curl around the back of his neck. Killian moved a hand to her cheek and slid his tongue along her bottom lip. Obligingly, she parted her lips and let herself enjoy the way his tongue expertly explored her mouth. Just as she leaned into the kiss a little bit more, Killian pulled away causing Emma to let out a soft sound of protest.

"Case in point," he said, albeit it breathier than he'd wanted to, "my game is in tip-top shape."

After the split second it took for his words to sink in, Emma finally broke away from his hold, pushing off of his chest – _hard_. "You're despicable."

"Sticks and stones, love. You're just upset because you liked it."

"Please!" she scoffed. "Don't act like you didn't." She slid off the bed and walked over to her mirror and began straightening her hair and outfit.

"Oh I did, did I? Whatever helps you sleep at night." He swung his legs off her bed, but made no further move to get off of it, merely shifting to sit on the side of the mattress.

She turned around and sauntered towards him, giving him a pointed look before replying, "Your point would have been made without your tongue examining my tonsils."

Killian's face fell at that.

Before he could get out a rebuttal however, David appeared at the door, informing them the crème brulées were ready. He cast a murderous look to Killian on the incriminatingly unmade bed as he asked if he was interrupting something.

"Not at all. I was just asking Emma if she'd be so kind as to loan me some English notes," he said reaching for the notebook Emma had left on her bedside table. _Quick thinking_ Emma mused, then shooed the thought away. She was _not_ going to be impressed with him right now. _Ever_, she corrected.

The thoroughly uncomfortable party made their way back downstairs where the idle prattle resumed. The _crème brulées aux framboises_, while delicious, didn't sit well with either Killian or Emma; both were running over what had just occurred, trying to rationalize to the best of their ability. Surely it was the wine? Or the oddness of seeing each other outside school for the first time?

They were also plagued by the notion that both had been bested, and thus neither could say with absolute certainty which one of them he had come out of the evening with the upper hand. Killian in particular was set on remedying this situation.

* * *

Emma figured everything would return to normal once back at Walden. Oddly enough, she wasn't sure whether that's what she was hoping for or not.

As she went through her day, she also couldn't tell if she was right or wrong, let alone whether or not she was happy about it.

It didn't help that at this point she hadn't the foggiest clue as to what constituted "normal".

Heading towards chem she was almost afraid of what he'd do, sitting mere inches away from her.

Or maybe looking forward to it?

She was definitely scared that she didn't know which.

As she slid into her seat, she was both relieved and made further anxious by his semblance of good behavior, just waiting for the clouds to burst and a shitstorm rain down upon her.

So she waited.

And yet…

Nothing happened.

He didn't attempt a single thing in their chemistry class during that first week back, despite being posed right next to her, perfect position to strike.

The only noteworthy thing Killian did _at all_ was on Guy Fawkes Night. While all pyrotechnic paraphernalia was banned on campus (and there even were extra security patrols in lieu of their past incendiary hijinks), Killian was still determined to put on a flashy show outside of Emma's window. The lawn right outside her room was apparently the perfect place for a friendly game of shirts vs skins against Frederick while the soccer field was being mowed. And who of course should be playing skins at this scrimmage? And was it her fault that it there was a lovely cool breeze she was enjoying coming through her open window? And _Jesus fucking Christ_ that torso of his was not fair.

_But_. He was ignoring her. And Emma was happy to reciprocate.

* * *

She should have known, but once again Killian Jones had lured her into a false sense of security.

The following Monday, she took her seat beside him and went about her business as usual.

Then she felt the index finger of his left hand tracing circles on the inside of her right wrist.

She peered over at him out of the corner of her eye – stunned and furious at his face which was attentively flicking between the projector, and his notes as he copied them down.

This went on every day for the rest of the week, until Friday when all of a sudden – all too soon and after an excruciating wait – he stopped. As if his hand had always rested on his side of the table.

Emma kept subtly moving her arm closer to his – to test him surely. Not because it had felt _nice_ – that would be ridiculous. She even went so far as to drop her pencil so she could scoot her chair closer to him once she had retrieved it.

She let out a huff of resignation, confused as to why the action had ended, and why it had started in the first place.

And but a moment later, she felt his fingers back tickling her skin – but not her wrist.

Instead he was dancing over the exposed skin of her knee. And her entire body was tingling in reaction.

Her stare at him was open this time, mouth agape to complete picture. She only knew he was watching her when his hand moved up to the middle of her thigh, just brushing under the hem of her skirt and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Jones," she let out a shaky breath as she tried to focus on what was on the board, instead of desire that was, much to her vexation, starting to pool between her legs.

"Hm? Yes, Swan – what can I do for you?" he asked softly as though he she were pulling him out of his thoughts like he were somewhere else entirely, or genuinely paying attention to Gold droning on about molar mass, instead of completely focused on her reactions. _Bollocks_. Like hell he was.

"What are you doing with your hand?"

"I'm trying to copy down the lecture, so I can be ready for the quiz next week." His fingers were still on her leg.

"With your _other_ hand," she hissed.

It didn't escape his notice that she'd neither told him to stop, nor smacked his hand away.

"Oh," he looked down, following his arm to where his fingers rested, as though it had only just occurred to him that it was her thigh he had been stroking, "_that_. Well, it's all rather boring isn't it? Gotta do something to keep occupied." He said this as if it were all perfectly logical and explained everything. "Why?" he continued, lowering his voice as he brought his head up to look at her. "Does it bother you?" He slid his hand slid down the side of her leg until it was no longer atop it, but resting beside it at the edge of the seat of the lab stool.

Emma swallowed. "I didn't say that…" Her mind was an electron: everywhere at once; darting between missing the feather light weight on her skin, hating that the feeling had become familiar, loathing that far-too-becoming gleam in his eye, how dangerous a game they were playing, how it didn't matter a _damn_ that they were in the middle of class. "Maybe I don't mind so much…" she trailed off, leaving the invitation hang in the air unsaid.

"Is that so?" He moved his hand another inch away, grabbed the seat and pulled the chair and Emma closer to him, just enough that the sound of metal legs screeching against the linoleum tiles blended into the usual soundtrack of the classroom

As an answer, Emma hooked her boot under the rung of his own seat, pulling him a couple of all important inches closer to her, their chairs nearly touching now, Emma practically in his lap.

_That was unexpected_. Killian blinked before staring at her, determined to ascertain if she was bluffing. His eyes searched hers for any clue he may have missed that she was merely trying to get him to fold.

There was nothing. Instead, Emma simply nodded and almost unconsciously opened her legs a tiny bit wider.

That _definitely _didn't escape his notice.

And it certainly didn't escape hers when his fingers, reclaiming the territory of her thigh, slipped higher up, just below the apex of her legs.

The gasp she released at feeling him so excruciatingly close to her core, however, did escape the notice of the rest of the class.

"Killian," she half-whispered, half-choked, "is there anything in particular that brought this on?"

"After dinner the other night, it seemed like you may have also been in need of _relieving tension_. Doesn't seem like I'm entirely wrong," he murmured as he brushed against her now quite wet panties to illustrate his point.

She nearly whimpered.

Emma Swan. Who had never whimpered for anyone or anything in her life, was now practically mewling from one simple touch from this Irish bastard. But at least that she could hide under the guise of clearing her throat. There was no way to conceal the fact he had lured her to the very edge of her seat, trying still to get closer to him.

Were she not so inexplicably turned on right now, she would have swatted his hand away, but as it was – as much is it wounded her to admit – she needed him.

He worked agonizingly slowly, taking his sweet time bringing her closer and closer to her release, and pausing his ministrations altogether when Gold called on her to answer his question about the molar mass of dihydrogen monoxide – and she couldn't tell if she was thankful, or infuriated for that.

It was all she could do to bite the inside of her cheek to contain the cacophony of noises building up in her throat as he worked her though the sodden lace of her underwear, meticulously stroking along her folds and around the bundle of nerves. But when she was finally right at the edge, class was dismissed, his hand instantly gone. He grabbed his bag and was out the door in a flash.

Not caring that her face was certainly flushed, she bolted after him. "Jones!" she practically screeched when she rounded up to him in the hallway.

"What now? Need a hand with something, Swan?"

She stepped closer to him and dropped her voice, "You will finish this. _Now_."

"Will I? That's a pretty bold statement there. Indeed, it almost seems like you may be admitting something." He stared at her smugly.

She scoffed. "There's nothing for me to admit. This is purely a matter of common decency, not that you're familiar with the concept. In fact, perhaps I can even return the favor," she said.

That caught his attention. "Are you striking a deal?"

"I believe I am. I'd suggest you take it – this offer's a one-time thing."

"Very well, Swan. Step this way." He grabbed her wrist and began winding them through the halls. He stopped at one particular corner to make sure no one saw them, before opening a door and pulling her after him into the boy's locker room.

He brought her in front of him and walked her backwards toward the demi-wall dividing the lockers from the showers. Grabbing her leg under her knee, he propped it up on the bench bolted to the floor. Moving tortuously slowly, his hand crept back up along her inner thigh. Then he relented with one single stoke across her panties. Then another.

"Jones!" she rasped out.

"Mm. Yes lass?" Again with that voice as if he was far away, as though he wasn't standing a few inches away and this wasn't actually happening right now; an obnoxiously calm foil to her desperation.

"I believe your current task is to finish what you started. _Not_ to start the whole process anew."

"Oh, you have somewhere better to be? What's your rush?" he asked as he cast her a boyish grin.

"You know perfectly well what my rush is," she glared. But how close he'd brought her wasn't quite the whole the truth. The fact was Emma knew he had also her far too close to begging.

"Very well, Swan." And with that her panties were brushed aside and a finger thrust inside her. She couldn't have stifled her moan if she wanted to; especially once he started drawing circles around her clit with his thumb. "That's a good girl."

Oh how she wanted to smack him for that, were her hands not already occupied with the important task of holding on to the wall behind her to keep upright. She settled for growling "I hate you" at him.

"Somehow I rather doubt that right now, darling," his smirk reached all the way to his eyes which were boring straight into hers.

God, his smugness. She nearly risked slapping him then, but of course he picked that moment to slip a second finger into her.

"Fuck!" she moaned.

"Yes, love. Glad you're catching on."

"Okay. I'm _going_ to smack you."

"Actually, no. You're going to come for me, Emma. _Now_!_"_ At that, he curled his fingers _just _so, and that coupled with the way he growled the final word had the world going fuzzy behind her eyes.

Emma bit her lip and let out one final moan. As the waves crashing through her calmed, she brought her leg down, but stayed leaning against the wall still feeling weak in the knees.

Killian's smirk was wider than ever; Emma had never seen him looking so pleased with himself. She rolled her eyes and was about to making a biting comment, but the words died on lips and her jaw went slack as he made a spectacle of licking his fingers. "Well. I suppose I'll leave you here to compose yourself." Giving her a wink, and a quick smack on the ass he walked away, leaving her to try and process what the _hell_ had just happened.


End file.
